


I Give You Heaven's Vows (And Those Are Mine)

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Ishbalan | Ishvalan, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Blood and Injury, F/M, Gen, I don't know where this story is going yet, I hope everyone is reading the tags because things just picked up, Ishbalan | Ishvalan Trisha Elric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Alliances, Violence, all my aus are starting to turn into ishvalan aus, but also a romance!, happy burn down your house with your brother day, hopefully non-graphic, we needed more ishvalan elrics content anyway, yeah this is kind of a political thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-11-22 19:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: After expressing her pacifistic views in an ever more military-controlled Amestris, Princess Winry Rockbell is sent to Xerxes to form a dubious alliance with the desert city-state now home to an increasing number of Amestrian and Ishvalan refugees. It happens when you're royalty.Fortunately, Van Hohenheim's elder son and the heir to the throne of Xerxes is 1) no fool 2) a little bit of an idiot 3) sweet 4) in denial of that. In that order, exactly.She could've done so much worse.





	1. Xerxes

Their horses were tired by the time they reached Xerxes.

Winry, Mustang, and Hawkeye stopped at the nearest cistern. As they watered their horses, a tall woman with gold eyes and long, braided black hair under a white scarf offered them glasses of some drink that was a brilliant scarlet color. It turned out to be a faintly fruity, tangy, refreshing cold tea.

“What brings you to Xerxes?” the woman asked with a welcoming smile.

“We’re headed to the palace,” Roy said, in halting Xerxian.

“Seeking sanctuary?” the woman asked.

Roy gave a tired, ironic laugh. “Of a sort.”

“Follow this road. It twists and turns a bit, but it leads straight to the heart of the oasis. That’s where you’ll find the palace.”

“Thank you.”

Winry mounted again, even though she was sore and exhausted from the long ride through the desert. She watched the people going back and forth about their business through the city with mild interest.

Xerxes was a bustling city, open and welcoming. Several people shouted greetings to the Amestrians and Winry dredged up the energy to smile and wave back. She was just too tired to translate.

Food stalls sent up enticing aromas matched by the piles of spices in the marketplace. A variety of colorful fruits and vegetables, some of which were completely unfamiliar to Winry, were on display between carts of clothing and pottery and household goods. A table of brightly woven shawls caught her eye; it stood in between two jewelry stands. Still, Winry kept moving, just wanting to rest. She could, maybe, explore the city later.

The palace was built at the far end of the promenade, a series of intricate fountains casting fine cooling spray into the air leading up to it. Even from this distance, the palace appeared to be just as busy and full of people as the market.

Closer, it looked even more full of life, people of all ages and stations constantly coming and going, chatting and laughing with each other. Winry thought of the Central estate, how it stood empty most of the time, except when parties filled a select few rooms, and felt a sudden pang that wasn’t homesickness.

A smallish, elderly woman with an eyepatch and wearing an Ishvalan sash came forward to meet them. “You are the Amestrian delegation, correct?” She spoke with a soft twist to her words that spoke of another language to which she had once been accustomed.

Roy nodded. “Yes. I’m Roy Mustang, this is Riza Hawkeye, and Winry Rockbell.”

“My name is Shan. You seem tired. We decided it was best to let you rest before the formal presentation.” Shan turned to a young Ishvalan boy next to her. “Leo! Is the prince still playing at his nonsense?”

“He is, Lady Shan.”

Shan sighed. “Very well. We can at least introduce you to Hohenheim.”

“The prince’s nonsense?” Winry asked, half-hesitant.

“He vanishes for hours on end at the most inconvenient times,” Leo informed her. “Alphonse doesn’t know where he is, either.”

“…Oh.”

“I hope he’s only forgotten,” Shan sighed. “It happens often enough.”

Shan led them quickly through the palace to a less-crowded area, then through a guarded door to a hallway that was much quieter, then into a study lined with books. A kindly-looking middle-aged man with long hair pulled back from his face and glasses looked up from his desk as they came in. He stood up and came to greet them. “The Amestrian delegation, correct? Welcome to Xerxes. My name is Hohenheim.”

As Hohenheim chatted with Winry’s escorts, she tuned it out in order to take in the study. Tall windows let in the light, curtains ready to cut off any excess brightness. The whole room looked drenched in warm sun and smelled golden, a faint undertone of incense and tea hanging under the almost honey-like fragrance. The books were huge and old, not unlike the restricted area of the National Library back in Central, but this study had a completely different feel to it—welcoming, cozy, almost dreamy. An old-fashioned chair sat behind the desk, a large, low table housed an astrolabe, globe, armillary sphere and several chemical apparatuses, a high-backed armchair with dark maroon velvet upholstery sat in one corner, and the areas of the walls that weren’t windows were covered floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves.

Winry caught herself yawning and stopped mid-stretch.

“I’m so sorry,” Hohenheim said, cutting him off. “Chattering away and you all must be exhausted. We’ve set up living quarters for you in the family area. If you’d like I can show you the way now.”

“I’m fine,” Winry said, somewhat embarrassed. “Is there a garden or something I can take a walk in? If I go to sleep now I’ll just wake up in the middle of the night.”

“Of course.”

They left the study, heading down another hallway lined with windows.

“How is Pinako?” Hohenheim asked.

Winry started. “You know Granny?”

“We used to be drinking buddies, but that was a while ago,” Hohenheim said.

“She’s doing… pretty well. After my parents were murdered, she went quiet with her political beliefs, but she’s provoking change from behind the scenes.”

Hohenheim laughed. “That sounds like Pinako.” He paused, grimacing slightly. “I’m sorry about Edward. He’s…” He shook his head. “He defies explanation,” Hohenheim said at last. “I don’t think he meant any slight with his absence. He’s just thoughtless some—_all_ of the time.”

“I see,” Winry said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

“He’s a good kid,” Hohenheim said. “He has a kind heart. He just doesn’t like to be reminded of that.”

The exchange only left Winry feeling more confused.

Hohenheim left Riza and Winry in the garden. Winry found a bench and sat down, enjoying the late-afternoon sun. Riza gave her some space; Winry knew, however, that her bodyguard was still nearby. The garden was lush and beautifully maintained; arbors, trees and sweeping vines providing shade while a fountain played at its center. A delicious fragrance pervaded the air.

A very slight sound from the walls surrounding the garden made Winry look up. Someone slid out of a window a few stories up and began to proceed toward the ground, moving with surprising speed and sure-footedness, something tucked under one arm. Winry watched for a long while—whoever it was didn’t seem to notice her. Finally, she cleared her throat.

The climber jumped, lost his grip on the stonework, windmilled in an attempt to overcorrect, and tumbled the last six feet or so to the ground. He lay there, stunned. Winry moved closer. “Are you all right?”

The climber pushed himself up and spat out the hair that had made its way into his mouth. He was a boy about Winry’s age, dark-skinned, with long, golden hair braided in the back and the same amber eyes that many of the citizens of Xerxes had. He rubbed the back of his head. “Ow. What the hell were you doing in here!? There’s never anyone in the garden at this hour!” he demanded, scowling at her.

“What were you climbing like that for, then?” Winry retorted. “You looked like an idiot spider.”

“Idiot spider yourself,” the boy growled, casting about. He picked up a large, heavy tome off the grass and cradled it in his lap.

“Um… you’ve got some leaves… in your hair,” Winry pointed out. The boy ran a gloved hand through his bangs, then picked out the leaves with his other hand. He was only wearing one glove. “Did you lose a glove?”

Unamused, the boy pulled the second glove out of his pocket and showed it to her. “Makes climbing easier.”

“What were you climbing for? Doesn’t this place have stairs?”

“It’s too noisy.” The boy wrinkled his nose. His Amestrian carried the same softening twist that the Ishvalan woman’s had. “Who are you, anyway?”

“…Winry Rockbell,” Winry said.

The boy collapsed, dropping his forehead onto his knees. “Oh… _damn_. I am so sorry.”

“What? Why?”

The boy straightened up, offering the gloved hand. “I’m Edward Elric Van Hohenheim… your fiancé. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that was today.”

“Do you often—” Winry made a vague gesture.

Edward peered at her through his bangs. “Do I often…?”

“Lose track of time like that,” Winry completed.

Edward stared at the ground. “I started an experiment to pass the time. Then I forgot about everything else but the experiment. Hohenheim keeps threatening to find me my own staff so they can be the ones to bother me about my schedule.”

“I thought Hohenheim was your father?”

Edward looked at her like she was crazy. “He is.”

“Oh.” Winry didn’t know what to say to that. Hohenheim had seemed open and welcoming enough, but she had no knowledge of what his relationship with his sons was like.

Edward shuffled the book in his hands. “I suppose you know why you’re here,” he said.

Winry frowned. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Edward made a face. “Not just the whole marriage thing. Amestris is militaristic; you spoke up about it. Your prime minister has something to gain by moving you conveniently out of the way. I just want to know if I’m going to have to knock out assassins, or something.”

Winry blinked. Well, at least she knew now that her fiancé wasn’t an idiot—or at least, he was a _selective_ idiot. “I don’t think so? I mean, if that was a concern, wouldn’t they have tried to kill me before I left Amestris?”

“Not necessarily. They might want to pin this on Xerxes. If the princess dies in suspicious circumstances at home, they can’t really hush it up, but here we’ve got the filter of distance distorting information.”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” Winry said.

“But I wouldn’t put anything past Earl Bradley.” Edward shifted his weight. “Right. We’ll be on guard, then.”

“What’s going to happen to Amestris now I’m not there?” Winry bit her lip.

Edward set the book down on the carved stone bench and cupped her hands in his. “I don’t know yet, but I’m not going to stand idly by while people suffer. Also, Hohenheim always said your grandmother is a smart woman. She’s also not an idealist—she won’t be open with her pacifist stance. She’ll work behind the scenes—she’s exactly what a man like Bradley won’t expect.”

The gloved hand was cold and hard; the cuff of his sleeve shifted, exposing metal. Winry bit back her curiosity. She didn’t want to scare him off.

Edward broke the contact off suddenly. “Would you like some tea or something?” His cheeks looked flushed under his tan.

“Yes, that sounds nice,” Winry said, bewildered.

“Right. I’ll go get it.”

With that, he was gone. Winry stared after him in confusion.


	2. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed takes Winry to see the rest of the city.

Winry woke to the sound of some curious bird’s plaintive cry—like desert wind—outside her window. She got up, stepped out onto the balcony; it overlooked the garden she’d been in yesterday. Nowhere could she see the crying bird.

Now that she couldn’t see all its people, Xerxes seemed a sad and lonely place, full of secrets and ancient sorrows.

She caught a glimpse of bright hair in the garden below, but it was gone just as soon as she saw it.

Winry withdrew into the bathroom and began to dress. She didn’t need to bathe again after her long soak last night.

Roy knocked at the door. “Would you like some help doing your hair, Winry?” he asked.

Winry finished washing her face and opened the door. “What were you thinking of?”

Roy was quiet as he took her comb, working her hair into a crown braid. With that done, she got up and left the room, ready for breakfast.

A tall boy—the very image of Edward, but with shorter hair and a slightly different face shape—was waiting for her outside the room. He waved, smiling cheerily at her. “Hi! You’re Winry, correct?” Winry nodded. “I’m Alphonse—Ed’s younger brother.” He offered his hand for a shake. “You’ve met Ed already, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I couldn’t make him out.” _He seemed like the polar opposite of you_, she didn’t say. Where Alphonse was open, Edward was closed off; while Alphonse was tactful, Edward seemed far more likely to blurt out whatever was on his mind. And while Edward was completely honest, an open book on the surface, she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking or feeling, not really.

“He doesn’t like showing people what he really thinks or feels. It might work in his favor, in politics.”

“But not in his personal relationships?”

“Ed doesn’t do friends in the same sense most people do,” Alphonse said, grimacing. “But you get used to it.”

* * *

Edward was quiet at breakfast, leaving Hohenheim and Alphonse to carry on the dialogue. They made light conversation until Roy decided that enough was enough.

“Do you have any hobbies, Edward?” he asked, spearing a strawberry with his fork but watching Edward closely for any reaction. Winry tried to hide her nervous swallow; she would have been perfectly happy with the status quo but now it seemed she was in for a ride.

Edward watched them right back, his face expressionless. “I don’t have hobbies. I am an alchemist.”

Roy raised his eyebrows—the perfect courtier. “What field?”

“Metallurgy and earth-moving, primarily.”

It seemed Hohenheim was also determined to push all of them out of their comfort zones. “False modesty doesn’t suit you, Edward,” he commented. “You would be hard put to name a branch of alchemy that Edward hasn’t researched.”

Edward’s face remained blank as he inclined his head in assent.

“Roy is a State Alchemist back in Amestris,” Hawkeye put in.

“My specialization is flame alchemy,” Roy added.

“What non-combat applications have you found for that?” Alphonse asked.

“We’re a family of alchemists,” Edward explained, with a brief smile. He raised his eyebrows. “How does it work? Aggregation of energy to generate heat or manipulation of flammable gases?”

“Oxygen manipulation,” Roy replied. “The first one sounds clumsy—potentially dangerous.”

Edward’s face was impassive as he sipped his tea. “It has its applications.”

“An oxygen manipulation array could be helpful for physicians,” Alphonse mused, “but unless there was some way to fine-tune it and make it self-feeding you’d need an alchemist to continue operating it.”

“Self-feeding?” Riza asked, curious despite herself. She’d grown up among alchemists too, Winry remembered.

“We’ve been working on automatically-activated arrays as well as transmutation circles that don’t require any further input from the alchemist to continue working,” Alphonse told her. “Normally by charging a circle and then using some sort of trigger to add the activation symbol.”

“Hohenheim has experimented with arrays that have the base circles added post-hoc,” Edward added, “but though the concept is sound the theory seems practically unworkable—”

“Unless there’s some sort of consciousness to guide the circle,” Alphonse completed his brother’s sentence.

“Amestrian alchemists don’t get nearly so creative with the core principles of alchemy,” Riza commented.

“Of course not. With the focus on military and combat alchemy applications, even civilian alchemists are pushed disproportionately toward getting results. There’s no spirit of inquiry, no time to stop and question,” Edward said.

“No funding if you don’t show them progress,” Alphonse added. “They tend to forget that even a negative answer is still an answer.”

Roy nodded. “The system is faulty.”

Edward set down his fork. “Miss Rockbell, if you’re ready, would you rather visit the city first or see the rest of the palace? It’s cooler in the morning and that’s when the city is most active.”

“The city, please,” Winry said warmly. “What I saw on the way here—it wasn’t nearly as much as I wanted to see.”

Edward stood up, offering her his hand. “Let’s go, then.”

* * *

“So many different people and languages,” Winry said softly. “It’s not like Amestris at all.”

“Out of curiosity, your highness, how many languages do you speak?” Edward asked.

“I speak Aeurgonian and Cretan fluently… some Drachman. Our northern Marchward speaks Drachman more fluently than most, but we interact with Drachma only rarely.” Winry watched the throng making their way this way and that. “What about you?”

“I speak the majority of the languages used in the city,” Edward replied. “We have quite a few Amestrian refugees who came seeking political asylum, Xingese merchants and immigrants, a few Aerugonians. Descendants of our Xerxian ancestors are everywhere, but it’s unusual any more for anyone to have the Xerxian coloring so… pronounced.” He gestured to his face.

“And no fear of attack on any side?” Winry marveled. “It sounds different, but wonderful.”

“Who would attack us? We’re an oasis in the desert, too far for any nation to comfortably hold an outpost here. Aerugo leaves us alone. Xing believes in myth and legend as well as science; they haven’t forgotten that it was Xerxes that gave them the arts they would eventually develop into alkahestry. They still hold us in an almost-mystical regard. In fact… the greatest threat to Xerxes is Amestris.”

“Why?” Winry asked. “Like you said, there’s nothing here that they could want.”

“We openly encouraged Ishvalan refugees to make their way here and make this their new home,” Edward said softly. “My own mother was among them. After Minister Bradley’s orders to commit genocide, I would not be surprised if he was furious with us for opening our gates to the refugees.”

“I see.” Winry said.

Edward glanced at her from under spun-gold bangs. “This might sound odd, coming from me, but… it’s all right to have forebodings… I have no intention of moving too fast… and I hope that Xerxes will be a new home to you.” His gaze shifted toward the pavement. A moment passed, and then he was back to introducing her to another shopkeeper.

* * *

“Do you know everyone in the city?” Winry asked, half-teasing.

“Not _everyone_,” Edward told her. “But I know a lot of people.”

There were public bathhouses, the city gardens, rows on rows of comfortable homes, sheltered patios covered over with trellises supporting sweet-scented, blooming vines. Everywhere, it seemed, was something green.

Edward saw her curious glances and brushed the leaves of one plant aside. “We keep the soil from drying out with woven palm leaves.” He allowed the leaves to fall back into place. “I think it’s time we stopped wandering around aimlessly. I should introduce you to a few of the people you’re going to see the most of.”

Edward led the way down a side street and to an unassuming, freestanding building with windows all around. A tiny bell jingled over the door as he pushed it open.

The interior space was cool, but the afternoon breeze blew in, filtering light making the space bright and airy. The wood floor was slightly springy underfoot. Edward unlaced his boots and removed them, Winry and Roy following his example.

Edward led them toward the back of the first room and an open doorway.

Inside the second room, a tall, powerfully-built Ishvalan man with a cross-shaped scar on his forehead stood in front of a group of young children—some Ishvalan, some of mixed heritage. Nearly every ethnic group that compromised Xerxes was represented there. The Ishvalan demonstrated a stance and all the children tried to imitate it.

Edward pulled Winry and Roy to one side of the door, standing at the back of the room to observe the class. The Ishvalan walked through the rows of children, gently correcting foot placement and positioning. He glanced at the party gathered at the back of the room and nodded to them.

Returning to the front of the room, the man announced, “Students, we have visitors.” Heads craned in their direction. Edward took a step forward, acknowledging the class with a bow.

“Master Elric!” several voices cheered. Edward smiled.

“Spar! Spar! Spar!” a chant started. Edward shrugged, glancing at the Ishvalan teacher. The man gave a tiny smile in return. Edward took off the outer layer of his garments and his sash, folding them and setting them aside. The children scattered to the sides of the room, chattering excitedly.

Edward and the Ishvalan moved to the center of the room, bowed to each other, and took up their stances. At a nod, they both flew into action.

Edward dropped, sweeping out one leg, then another, to kick the older man’s feet out from under him. The Ishvalan leaped, avoiding the kicks. Edward rolled back over one shoulder and sprang to his feet, throwing a solid punch. The Ishvalan blocked, catching his wrist and executing a smooth hip throw. He followed up the advantage hotly. Edward rolled out of the way, smoothly rising to his feet.

“What do you think?” Winry asked Roy in a low tone.

“This isn’t a good way to measure him up. It’s a game, not a real fight. He’s playing—”

“But playing to win,” Winry pointed out.

“True.”

Edward darted in, landing a sharp blow on the Ishvalan’s chin. He danced aside as the taller man retaliated with a blow that nevertheless glanced off his ribs.

“He’s using a lot of energy, but again, playing,” Roy commented.

The Ishvalan snagged Edward by his collar, pulled him off-balance, and pinned him. “You’re usually much better about not letting me take advantage of your height, Edward.”

Edward huffed as the Ishvalan allowed him to get up. “Miss Rockbell, I wanted you to meet Master Ilai, my cousin. He taught me to defend myself and was my brother’s and my instructor in the Ishvalan traditions.”

“At which you were both a lazy and a too-apt scholar,” the scarred man replied, holding out a hand to Winry. “Please forgive me if I bring up things you would prefer not to remember—I want to express my gratitude for everything your parents did and tried to do in Ishval.”

Winry swallowed. “That means a lot to me. Thank you.”

“I hope you know how to defend yourself as well,” Ilai commented.

Winry nodded. “Of course.”

The tall Ishvalan smiled. “Then I won’t ask for a demonstration, unless you prefer to provide one at a later date.” He held out a hand, gesturing toward the class in an invitation for her to watch as they continued the lesson.

* * *

That evening, when their visit to the city was concluded, Edward led the way into a small side garden, hidden away from the grander grounds of the palace. Vines climbed the walls, shrouding the enclosed space in green. A fountain played at the center, small silver-and-gold fish darting around its basin, shaded by water lilies and a beautiful white lotus, its petals tipped with rose. A tree bent its branches protectively over the fountain, sparkling droplets falling in a continuous rain from long, silvery, drooping leaves.

“In the days before Old Xerxes fell, kings were embalmed and immortalized in monumental tombs,” Edward said quietly. “But with the fall of the old city, we realized that that was mere conceit. The glory of Xerxes will most likely one day be lost once more beneath the sand.” He touched a mossy stone carved with geometric designs and words in Xerxian and what were probably Ishvalan characters. “My mother chose to be buried here. My father wishes to be buried beside her.”

“Thank you,” Winry whispered. “I know how personal this must be for you.”

Edward murmured a few words in a language that wasn’t Amestrian, tracing the runes with his left hand.

Winry swallowed. “You don’t have to answer, but… how did she die?”

“An epidemic swept through the city. We opened our gates to refugees from Ishval, but… we couldn’t manage to get amenities in place for all of them fast enough. We _tried_. Ishvala forgive us for what we couldn’t do, but we _tried_. I was five, Al was four, Hohenheim was away petitioning the Aerugonian government for aid, and the two of us did our best to reinforce foundations and push stone walls from the sand to shelter the refugees. It wasn’t enough. Somehow Al and I never got sick, but Mom did. I think there must be nothing in the world harder to bear than to watch a loved one fade and not be able to do anything to help. Aerugo didn’t care about Ishval, even though they sent guns. They didn’t want to help the Ishvalan people. They only cared about needling Amestris. Al and I didn’t know what to do… Hohenheim came home too late.”

Edward’s left hand crept toward his automail arm.

“I’m sorry,” Winry said.

Edward laughed, not quite bitterly. “But that’s life, isn’t it? There are some things you just can’t prevent.”

“What happened to Old Xerxes?” Winry asked. “You talk about it as if it was destroyed.”

“Oh, that’s history,” Edward said, with a softer laugh.

“History? I thought it was legend.”

Edward shrugged, leaning toward her. “What does the legend say?”

Winry shifted her weight, thinking. “That the philosopher’s stone or some other legendary force razed it in a single night.”

Edward’s face went serious. “How strong is your stomach?”

Winry nodded to his arm. “You have automail, don’t you? Your right arm _and_ your left leg. I can tell; your walk is a little lopsided. I helped my grandmother perform an emergency surgery to correct an automail infection when I was eleven.”

Edward turned to Mustang. “Do I have your word of honor that whatever I say will not leave these walls? This is a personal matter in my family and potentially a matter of life and death.”

“It’s all right,” Winry said hastily. “You can trust him.”

“I swear on my honor that I will not repeat anything you say here to anyone,” Mustang said.

“And you will do nothing whatsoever to act on this knowledge?”

“I swear.”

Edward stared at them both, his face grim. “Not _by_ the philosopher’s stone, and not to claim the philosopher’s stone. Everyone but those on the very outskirts of Old Xerxes died to _create_ the philosopher’s stone.”

Mustang watched the young Xerxian, his face serious. “Are you implying—”

“The philosopher’s stone is made of human souls,” Edward said.

Winry felt queasy. “That’s awful.” Edward nodded tersely. Winry swallowed. “What happened to the stone itself?”

“That’s a matter of national security,” Edward said. “It’s being kept securely.” His sudden, intense gaze on both of them unnerved Winry.

“That’s abhorrent, but the mathematics suddenly make sense,” Roy said.

Edward simply nodded.

“You’re not still experimenting with it, are you?” Winry asked.

Edward gave her a look of cold horror. “_No_.” He stared at the wall. “Everyone in Xerxes came from some tragedy or other. I am descended from refugees and slaves. It’s not quite a fresh start—we _always_ remember where we came from—but we build with what we have, and we are proud of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Ed's totally wary of Roy and testing him out. However, in typical Ed fashion, that means dropping bombshells while watching for a reaction.


	3. Family Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winry gets to know the inhabitants of Xerxes better.

“These symbols are all actually letters of the most ancient form of the Xerxian alphabet. The current forms are slightly—in some cases completely—different,” Edward explained.

Winry blinked at the sheet of strange characters in front of her. They all looked like gibberish—pure nonsense. She was making a deep effort to focus, but the lines swam into incomprehensibility before her eyes.

Edward was looking at her, odd golden eyes watching her, eyebrows slightly raised. “Miss Rockbell?”

“Uh… actually, could we take a break? I think our minds aren’t wired on the same wavelength… I’m sure you’re a brilliant teacher, but your style just isn’t working for me. Also, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

Edward raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Winry swallowed, uncertain if she was overstepping boundaries. “May I see your automail?”

For a second, Edward’s expression and posture didn’t change. Then he nodded slowly, slipping out of the outer layer of his tunic and folding his sash. Underneath that was a plain black shirt, which he also removed. He rolled up the loose pants past the knee on the left leg, then straightened up, waiting.

Winry reached for his automail arm, manipulating it gently to check the range and fluidity of movement. There was no sound but the soft clicking of internal mechanisms and pressure plates touching. Edward’s breath was soft on her hand as he watched her.

“Who’s your mechanic?”

“A Milosian refugee named Gonsalo. He had been improvising with subpar materials and junk long before coming here.” Edward sighed. “Another people forced from their homeland by Amestris.”

“I haven’t even heard of them before,” Winry commented.

“They suffered more slowly than Ishval,” Edward replied quietly.

Winry was silent for a while, examining the fine mechanisms in Edward’s automail. The design was ingenious. “This is lighter than most automail I’ve seen… the material even feels different.”

“I believe it uses alloys and design elements adapted from cold-weather automail—materials that are less conductive of heat. Mine is actually heavier than most… Gonsalo had to reinforce it because I kept breaking it.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Winry commented dryly. “Actually, I _am_ surprised—that you admitted it.”

Edward rolled his eyes at her.

“Are you as hard on the rest of your body as you are on your automail?”

Edward stared at the wall. “More or less.”

It wasn’t entirely honest; Winry could read the truth in the numerous scars and hard muscle on his back and shoulders. “How did you lose your arm and leg?”

He must have been expecting the question—it was an obvious thing to ask—but Edward still stiffened. “Sorry…” Winry mumbled. “I was just curious… the amputation point seems unusual, somehow, and there aren’t any indicators that would point to an infection being the cause. Any other way… you must’ve been _very_ young.”

“I’ll tell you someday,” Edward said quietly. “I promise. Just… not now.”

Winry nodded. “Okay. I understand, Edward.”

He shuddered. “Please just call me Ed. ‘Edward’ sounds weird coming from you.”

“All right. I will.”

Ed slipped his tunic back on as if nothing had happened. “Do you want to continue with the alphabet, or—”

A dark-skinned girl whose gait and heavy footfalls said “double amputee” rounded the corner, giving a comical salute. “Hey, Ed!” she shouted at full volume.

Edward stared up at the sky as if begging whatever powers might be listening for patience. “_What_, Paninya?”

“Your dad’s nowhere to be found and we’ve got royalty from Xing making their way to the palace.”

“What, right _now_?”

“Be glad it wasn’t yesterday,” Paninya informed him. “This way you’re not missing on anything.”

Ed mumbled something in Xerxian that sounded like a curse and got awkwardly to his feet, shaking out his right foot. “Here’s hoping they don’t expect formal robes. Keeping Xing in awe of us is probably more trouble than it’s worth.”

* * *

Edward’s whole demeanor changed as they left the room. He walked with his head held high, shoulders back, his posture commanding. For a moment, Winry wondered what Tariquah Al-ric had been like, that her son would stand so differently from his father. The stance reminded her a little of Roy and contrasted sharply with Bradley, whose posture suggested threat rather than regality.

He led Winry to the anteroom with the same bold step, crossing the floor without hesitation toward the small band of Xingese envoys at the center of the room. He greeted them in Xingese; Winry caught the word “Amestrian.” The one who appeared to be the leader, a boy with a sunny smile in an equally sunny jacket, replied, and Edward switched to Amestrian.

“May I present Princess Winry Rockbell of Amestris.” The Xingese boy bowed over her hand, kissing her fingers.

“I am Ling of the Yao clan, twelfth prince of Xing. I presume you are the crown prince?”

“I am the heir,” Edward replied. “My name is Edward Elric. What brings you to Xerxes, Ling Yao?”

“We need your assistance.”

“Xerxes is not and has never been a military power,” Edward said.

“It’s not military that we need. The Emperor is very sick. Our alkahestrists can do nothing to help him. Lan Fan, Fu and I came to seek the way to immortality.”

Edward’s face was impassive. “Immortality is pyrite. No matter how much it sparkles, it will never have substance.”

“Do you really believe that?” the Xingese prince challenged.

“You _are_ familiar with the principles of alchemy and alkahestry? Nothing can be done without paying a price. What sort of price could possibly be equivalent to eternal life? Is that something you are willing to pay?” Edward took a deep breath, visibly recomposing himself. “We will accommodate you here at the palace while you rest, and give you time to make your decision. Other than that, I can not help you.”

* * *

The meeting broke apart with another diplomat coming to lead the Xingese envoy to the guest rooms and Lady Shan calling Edward away to discuss something else, leaving Winry with Paninya. “You’re Paninya, right?”

“Yep. I’m Ed’s chief of staff, which is basically a glorified babysitter because he keeps disappearing.”

“I didn’t know he had one.”

“He pretends he doesn’t. I’m really in it because it’s funny when he gets ticked off.”

“He seems like the sort of person it would be dangerous to tick off,” Winry observed.

“Not really? He mostly just shouts a lot—unless you cross his sense of justice. _Then_ you’re headed for a world of pain. He’s mostly just noisy.” Paninya winked at Winry. “Want some shouting lessons so you can shout even louder than him?”

“I may eventually take you up on that.”

There was a loud _thump_ on the other side of the left wall. Winry startled. “That sounded bad.”

Paninya didn’t bat an eye. “Normal Tuesday.” She pushed open the door to the library.

Edward and Alphonse tussled in a jumbled tangle of limbs on the floor, rolling between piles of books and occasionally bumping into things. Edward struggled, managing to prop himself on an elbow before Alphonse rolled him over and lay down on top of him, an elbow between Edward’s shoulder blades. “Hello, Miss Rockbell! What can I do for you?” Alphonse asked cheerfully. Edward growled incoherently into the floor tiles.

“Ah…” Winry began, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t worry, we do this all the time.”

“I’m used to staring at the floorboards,” Edward grumbled.

Winry couldn’t help it. She laughed. Alphonse joined in.

“Very funny,” Edward growled.

“I thought you were going to a policy meeting.”

“Trust me, this helps a lot,” Alphonse smirked. “Do you do self-defense? This doesn’t really work as training, but it is great stress relief.”

“Of course,” Winry said. “It would be stupid not to know how to fight.”

Alphonse grinned. “I like her.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re gonna see a lot of her.”

* * *

“You’re troubled.”

Edward looked up at his cousin’s approach, hooking his right heel on the ledge so that it wouldn’t fall. He pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“When you said you wanted to talk to me, I didn’t think it was this bad,” Ilai rumbled.

“I wanted to ask you your impression of the Amestrian princess.”

“But something happened since then, didn’t it.”

“Visitors from Xing. Royal ones. They were hoping to find a way to immortality.”

There was only one path to immortality, and they both knew it. Ilai said nothing for a while, thinking through the best way to approach this. But that was why Edward had always gone to him, and to Izumi—they had always given him an answer, even if it wasn’t necessarily one that solved the problem, or even made him happy.

Truth was something Edward had to bear, to endure. Neither Ilai nor Izumi had ever lied to him. He would rather endure harsh truth than live an insipid lie.

“When Tariquah began to court your father, I did not approve of the match at first,” Ilai said softly. “I did not think there was a man in the world who would value her as she deserved, least of all some outsider we barely knew. But I was wrong. I still think your father failed her in some ways—her death, however, not among those failings.” Ilai reached out and gripped Edward’s right shoulder. “But that was only human. None of us are monsters, Edward. I think we are stronger for our failings, stronger and wiser for the ability to see through many eyes.”

“You’re telling me to be patient,” Edward mumbled.

Ilai sighed. “I am afraid so. Don’t burn your bridges too early, Edward. Your chief flaw is that you judge too hastily.”

“I know.” Edward stared out at the sunset, visible along the city skyline through the windows of the dojo. “What about Winry Rockbell?”

“She’s willing to see through our eyes, is she not?” Ilai asked. “She seems to take after her parents.”

Edward nodded. “I’m giving her a chance. It scares me, though.”

Ilai sighed. “You never did like anything that was outside of your control.”

* * *

Winry almost danced down the corridor, humming to herself. Even with the added tension of the arrival of the Xingese envoy, it had been the best day she’d had in a long time. She almost got lost a few times, but the main areas were clearly demarcated by the architectural style, so it was easy to find her way back when she took a wrong turn.

Winry knocked at the door of Edward’s study. “Ed? I was wondering if I could ask you to—”

The door swung loosely open, the knob shifting and clattering loosely. It had been perfectly maintained just that morning.

Alarmed, Winry shoved the door all the way open.

Edward’s study was a wreck. Fallen books littered the carpet; even one of the shelves had tipped over. The desk was skewed, and Ed was grappling with a dark-haired man—he leaped over the fallen shelf and kicked the man hard in the stomach. He stepped into position to throw a punch, but instinctively turned to look at her at the sound of the door opening.

The assailant pounced on Edward, driving a splintered piece of wood through his side. The stranger leered at Winry for a second.

Edward whipped around, lashing out with the long knife in his hand. The man fell back with a shriek of rage. There was blood on the knife. Edward lunged at the man again, but the would-be assassin stumbled over a fallen stool. The motion saved his life. The assassin scrambled back, made a circuit of the room, pushed past Winry and ran.

Winry was frozen in place, unable to even scream. Edward made as if to push past her in pursuit of his attacker, but he stumbled and fell onto his side.

Winry dropped to her knees beside him, trying to remember what to do. Get pressure on the bleeding. Right.

Running feet in the hall. Staff and guards, all arriving too late, only to see Winry with her hands on the broken wood Ed had been impaled on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Gonsalo being Ed's mechanic was a Sacred Star of Milos shout-out. There were elements of that story that I like a lot.


	4. Look Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you don't need a particularly clear plan to move forward.

Alphonse pushed through the guards, dropping to his knees next to Winry. “Someone get Hohenheim!” he shouted over his shoulder. He stared at Winry, sharp and hard. “What. Happened.”

“There was someone in Ed’s room,” Winry stammered.

“Black hair, looked exactly like you’d think a sociopath would,” Edward gasped out. He didn’t sound good—blood at the corner of his mouth, probably in his left lung too by the looks of it.

“Lie still, you idiot,” Alphonse told him.

Winry stared desperately at Alphonse. “I didn’t do this.”

“I know you didn’t. He was stabbed from _behind_,” Alphonse said.

Hohenheim arrived, scooping Edward into his lap. The ruler of Xerxes touched the injury, probing carefully. “Edward, take a breath for me.” Ed obeyed, falling into a dry cough. “Try to relax. Alphonse, can you pull that out on my mark?”

“Yes, Dad,” Alphonse said, pale but determined.

“Miss Rockbell, you may want to look away. This won’t be pleasant.”

“I can handle it.”

“That does not mean you should have to. Very well. If Alphonse needs help, help him.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for medical assistance?”

“I’m not leaving my son to suffer any longer than he has to. Alphonse?”

Winry helped Alphonse grasp the broken chair leg. At times like this, you had to remember that the person was a patient and ignore the unpleasantness.

Edward made a choked sound that barely even seemed human. Winry hardened her heart and kept the wooden stake moving. It finally pulled free after what seemed like an eternity.

Hohenheim quickly pulled the torn cloth at Edward’s back away from the dreadful injury, then covered the exit wound with his hand. Red light sparked around Hohenheim’s fingers and Edward’s breathing eased.

Winry’s mouth fell open with shock. “What did you just do?” If it was alchemy, he’d done it without using a transmutation circle, and she’d never heard of medical alchemy that quick or effective.

“I’m fine.” Edward pushed himself up. Hohenheim caught him and pulled him close to his chest.

“Let me be a sentimental old man for a minute, _glyko mou_. I could’ve lost you.”

Al leaned across, hugging them both. To Winry’s surprise, Edward just let it happen, closing his eyes in what could be contentment.

Finally, the royal family separated. Winry threw herself on Ed, tugging at his tunic, half-expecting there to be not even a mark to show he’d been hurt. The wound had already closed, turning into a dark, twisted scar—it looked as if Ed’s skin had pulled itself together at the center. Not even any bruising where the capillaries should have broken. The question sat like a salty-sour candy on her tongue but Winry threw her arms around Edward’s shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re okay, but what the hell just happened?”

Hohenheim was watching her, looking a little bit… sheepish? “We may not have been completely honest with you, Miss Rockbell.” Edward snorted, obviously amused.

“The truth is that I _am_ the philosopher’s stone created on the last day of Old Xerxes.” Hohenheim said.

* * *

Ilai, the scarred Ishvalan, escorted Edward into Hohenheim’s study after he had cleaned up and changed. Hohenheim, Alphonse, Lady Shan, and a few who Winry hadn’t met were already there. A dark-skinned giant of a man handed out mugs of spiced coffee. Winry sat between Roy and Riza, hands folded in her lap. Roy looked grim. Riza’s expression was hard to read.

As Ilai led Edward in, the tall black-haired woman stood. She grabbed Edward by the shoulders, shaking him soundly. “You fool. Don’t hesitate. Never hold back. You could have died. How dare you shame my teachings like that?”

Edward bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Master.”

The woman patted his cheek. “Next time you see that coward of an assassin, I expect you to slaughter him before he so much as gets a good look at you.”

“Yes, Master.”

They sat down.

“Who was the attacker?” Roy asked, his voice flat.

“A man with black hair. I didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“He looked like a stone-cold murderer. There were transmutation circles tattooed on his palms—equilateral triangles, one invert, with endpoints on the outer circle and an interior circle tangential to each triangle. One had a central point to symbolize the sun and the other an arc representing the crescent moon—they were clearly designed to intersect and overlap when the palms were pressed together, most likely for detonation.”

“Kimblee,” Roy snarled.

The black-haired woman glared at him. “You know this man?”

“His kill count in Ishval was astronomical,” Roy said bitterly. “The last I heard, he was rotting in a Central prison for blowing up seven of his commanding officers.”

“So he’s plausible deniability, then,” Alphonse said. “The fact that he wasn’t using alchemy points to the idea that he was trying to frame Miss Rockbell for the assassination. An escaped convict with a history of randomized murder would point to an accident. It’s all a little too convenient for my taste.”

“He’s very likely doing someone’s dirty work. Probably someone right at the top.” Edward observed.

Roy laughed, a harsh sound. “So Bradley _is_ dirty.”

“Captain Ross,” Hohenheim addressed a black-haired, straight-backed woman in a guard’s uniform. She saluted. “Please inform the watch to start a search for this man Kimblee. It would not reflect well on us to allow him to escape after attacking one of our own.”

“Yes, sir. What should I tell them to look for?”

“A black-haired man, medium height, with dull blue eyes. He is very pale, with likely Xingese ancestry,” Roy said. “The transmutation circles tattooed on his palms are as Edward described, and when I last met him he wore his hair long.”

Ed’s laugh was a sharp, brittle thing—the laugh of someone who had done the unthinkable and didn’t want to do it again, but would if required, clinging to the last scrap of innocence left to them. “The hair’s still long, ponytailed, with bangs a bit like Dad’s. He’s only got one eye now, though. Look for a blood trail.”

Winry swallowed down bile.

“At least that’s _something_,” the intimidating woman Edward called “Master” said darkly, her arms crossed.

“He’ll be covering his right eye, Captain Ross, probably using a hood or cap.” Edward continued. “A man like that would like to walk out of our gates bare-faced and arrogant, but he’s got no choice now. A man with an eye missing is far too memorable. On the off chance he comes back with a vendetta, tell him I’d be glad to relieve him of the other eye as well.”

Roy stood. “I was in Ishval too, young Master Hohenheim.”

Edward stood up, all but kicking his chair back to look Roy in the eye. “You haven’t tried to kill me, or any other Ishvalan here. Your country is bloodstained, but shedding more blood, particularly the blood of a potential ally, is useless.”

“Edward,” Hohenheim said softly, “sit down.”

Edward obeyed, not even sullenly. Winry gulped nervously.

“If you were stabbed,” Riza asked, her voice even, “how are you moving so easily now?”

“The past seems to have caught up with us,” Hohenheim sighed. “This story will only be new to the Amestrians.”

Captain Ross saluted and left the room, her blond-haired adjutant with her.

“Five hundred years ago,” Hohenheim began, “I was a slave in the house of a Xerxian court alchemist.”

Roy jumped to his feet. “Impossible.”

“Sit down, Colonel Mustang,” Edward said, arms still crossed across his chest.

“My former master was ordered by the last king of Old Xerxes to perform an experiment. My master used my blood to create a new form of life—the first homunculus, but it was weak, unable to leave its flask. However, at least I got a new friend out of it—or so I thought at the time. The homunculus knew things no one else had ever so much as imagined. It gave me a name, taught me to read and write and the basics of alchemy. I was freed and made my former master’s assistant.

“However, the king was growing old. He was beloved, and Xerxes had lived in a golden age under his rule, so his advisors agreed that to give him immortality would be wise. The homunculus undertook the task, telling the king how immortality could be taken.”

Hohenheim bowed his head. “I had no idea to what lengths the king would go to gain immortality until afterwards. A massive circle of canals and irrigation channels was dug, its points anointed in the blood of the workers and outlying villages. On the last night, the circle was activated and I found out the extent of the homunculus’ treachery. A philosopher’s stone is made of human souls. Half the souls in Xerxes created my stone; the other half formed a second for the homunculus itself. Everyone inside the circle died that night, except for the two of us.”

Edward’s face was stony, staring straight ahead. Alphonse’s head was bowed. Hohenheim stared at a point high on the far wall. “I didn’t know what to do or where to go. They… they were all terrified. I stumbled into the desert at some point, and was found by a Xingese merchant. I traveled to Xing for a time, but one day I decided to return to Xerxes to try to discover more about what had happened. I found a group of refugees hiding in the ruins, desperate for a home again, and that is how New Xerxes began.”

“Ling Yao,” Edward said, in a low, sharp voice. “Eavesdropping may be politically advantageous to you, but it’s certainly impolite.”

The door opened and the Xingese prince and his two bodyguards stepped inside, seemingly without any shame.

“Are you still interested in immortality, now you know its price?” Edward asked.

“Edward, who is this?”

Alphonse’s palm hit his forehead with an audible smack.

“The Xingese emperor is dying. Ling hopes to become his heir.”

“Ah.”

“I’m not ready to give up yet. Perhaps there’s some other way.” Ling said firmly.

“What does this have to do with Amestris?” Riza asked.

Edward cracked open a large atlas and pointed to the map of Amestris. “Tell me that doesn’t look like a transmutation circle.”

“Tonight’s assassination attempt was probably meant to drag our attention away from Amestris.”

“The homunculus is trying again?” Roy asked.

“Most likely,” Hohenheim agreed.

“That’s what all our alchemy experiments have been for,” Edward explained.

“What if they try to kill you again?”

Edward flashed a toothy grin. “The safest place for me is Amestris. It’s the last move they’d expect.”

“Just as impulsive and stubborn as Tariquah,” Hohenheim muttered. Ilai sighed, nodding.

“Do you still have Cousin Ezra’s notes from when he was learning alchemy?” Edward asked Ilai. “They could be useful.”

“Watching you work is like trying to follow a hummingbird,” Ilai told him.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Do you even have a plan?” Roy demanded.

Winry nodded in agreement. “I’m not hearing any ideas on what we’ll do once we get there.”

“Our best option is to disrupt the creation of the homunculus’ transmutation circle,” Hohenheim said, his voice steady. “We can do that by preventing the channels for the circle being dug, or by keeping them from massacring people to create the anchor points—the blood crests—of the array. However, it’s better to have multiple plans in place—”

“If a philosopher’s stone can be created, and is not the perfect object it is rumored to be,” Edward added, his topaz eyes sharp and hard, “then it stands to reason it can also be destroyed.”

“I understand why you didn’t want to help me on the project when I first proposed it,” Hohenheim said softly. “But will you help me now?”

Ed nodded slowly. “You better not do anything foolish, old man.” There was heavy tension in his voice, and sharp concern.

“I can’t afford to do anything foolish. I have you and Alphonse,” Hohenheim said.

Edward nodded, biting his lip.

Hohenheim stood up. “Come here.”

Edward obeyed. Hohenheim wrapped his arms around his son. “You and your brother are the best thing that ever happened to me, Edward. I won’t do anything to throw you away in any way. I won’t do anything rash.”

Ed swallowed, nodding. Winry looked away. Jealousy pierced her sharply for a moment. Her father couldn’t do that for her. She shouldn’t be jealous, though—shouldn’t be upset with her fiancé for having one more parent living. _He _watched_ as his mother died,_ she reminded herself, _unable to do anything to save her._

“I have an information network. We can manage communications. Find allies. Wrench back control of our government,” Mustang said, a gleam of hope and ambition in his dark eyes. “Amestris has been out of control for a long time. This could be the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll disguise myself,” Edward said. “It’s the hair people notice first. I’ll be your roaming agent.”

“Are you sure you’re up to the task?” Hawkeye asked, not disbelieving—Winry knew that as a sniper, Lieutenant Hawkeye never left anything to chance.

The black-haired woman exchanged glances with Ilai, who raised an eyebrow. Edward’s master smirked. “Oh, he’s up to the task, even if he’s still an idiot with those qualms about killing.” She turned to Ed. “There are people who don’t deserve your mercy. I expect you to live through this, Elric. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I’m going with him,” Alphonse said. “Ed might be the cleverer alchemist, but I’m the better fighter.”

“We can have our militia, such as it is, ready to move in on the day of reckoning,” Hohenheim added.

"Sig and I are originally from Amestris. We'll form a separate party." the black-haired woman said.

Winry stood up. “I’ll come with Edward and Alphonse too.”

Hawkeye stared at her, the closest to open alarm Winry had ever seen her. “Your highness, is that wise?”

“Someone’s trying to turn all the people of my country into an alchemic abomination,” Winry said firmly. “I may be only a figurehead, but they’re still my people.” She glanced around the room, surprised to see that Edward was watching her, approval and something approaching adoration in his eyes. Mustang nodded slowly.

“Besides,” Winry continued, “Edward, you mentioned your current mechanic is elderly. You’ll need someone with you, in case you do something to your automail.”

“That seems wise,” Hohenheim said. “Gonsalo has had to work with what he has for Edward’s prostheses. We don’t have much in the way of quality ores here in the desert, and Aerugo isn’t interested in provoking Amestris by trading with us.”

“I’m going,” Winry said firmly.

“So are we,” the Xingese prince butted in.

Winry’s heart pounded. She felt exhilarated. They were going to do the impossible.

She hadn’t even really noticed that as she affirmed her resolve, Edward’s hand crept into hers.

* * *

Edward took a slow breath, relaxing as he settled the scissors around the top twist of his braid.

“Are you sure about this?” Winry asked softly. She glanced regretfully over the thick, lustrous hair falling over Edward’s back in a waterfall of molten gold. “It seems like a shame…”

Edward sighed. “Yeah. Just… give me a second.” He held position awkwardly for a moment, then severed the braid with a quick stroke of the scissors. Or at least, that’s what he’d been hoping for, but he had to saw his way through the thick plait. Finally, though, he worked his way through it and set the loose braid down on the dressing table between them.

“Can you even it out a bit?” he asked, offering Winry the scissors. “Just leave the bangs alone. They’ll help hide my face.”

Winry was silent as soft, shortened strands dropped to the floor like snow, only interrupted by the snip of the abused scissors. “I think I’m done.” she said.

“Okay.” Edward pulled the bowl of warm water toward him, pouring in a packet of powder and swishing it around.

Ed leaned his head back into the basin, letting the activated dye swish around the back of his head. He clapped and reached up, touching the sides of the bowl and letting the array spread through the water. He snagged the towel, wringing out his now-black hair and leaving the towel perfectly clean. Winry watched, wide-eyed. Ed smirked at her. “That’s practically a parlor trick. Simplest one in the book.”

Thoughtfully, Winry reached out, running her fingers through Edward’s soft bangs. Despite their new color, they retained the same almost-preternatural sheen and softness. Edward felt himself blush faintly at the physical proximity. “You have _got_ to tell me your hair care routine,” she said.

“Are you two done? It’s my turn for a dye job,” Alphonse called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I honestly thought I had finished and posted this chapter long ago. Oops!

**Author's Note:**

> Ed really is just "oh no I showed an emotion time to go hide for the next six months"
> 
> The tea is hibiscus tea. It's a common refreshing drink in certain parts of the middle east and the only one I could think of while writing this.
> 
> Yes, I changed Bradley's first name from "King" to "Earl." I don't THINK he's a (spoiler) homunculus in this fic.
> 
> The title is taken from a production of "All's Well that Ends Well." I'm not sure it appeared in Shakespeare's original.
> 
> We will get more into the political situation and culture of Xerxes next time!


End file.
